


Episode 29: Safe Spaces

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [29]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Black Sun Gang, Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorian Food, Tatooine (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 18:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20430476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "I think tea would be nice." ~CaraSafety in numbers means a lot more when you're with people you trust.





	Episode 29: Safe Spaces

Beon set the timer and moved across the kitchen to the small refrigeration box tucked beside the sink. Opening it, he retrieved a bag of assorted, pre-cut vegetables and a pad of butter pre-sliced into neat cubes. In the pan he dumped several diced peppers, raw tubers, and hearty greens with the butter and a cup of wine from a bottle sitting on a shelf above the stove. The butter gave a satisfying sizzle, adding depth to the semi-sweet aroma of evaporated alcohol already filling the air. He gave the pan a few stirs to coat the vegetables before covering it and reaching for a bag of dry noodles on the counter. He checked the timer, holding the noodles just above the water until it read “6 minutes”. They hit the water with a splash and a few boiling droplets hit his wrist. He ignored them, pouring in some salt and a drizzle of oil over the surface before quickly uncovering the peppers to make sure they were breaking down. The steam from the pan blinded him for a moment so he opened the window on his left to vent out the room. Leaning in, he gave the pan a quick sniff and sighed dreamily. It was time for the spices, but at this stage, he’d add everything but the red salt and cracked peppercorns. It was best to leave them till the end so it’d be just right.   
Though he wanted to, there was no time to enjoy the gently simmering pan bubbling contently. With three minutes left on the pasta, Beon added in the rest of the vegetables along with a jar of thick, white sauce bearing a handwritten label indicating when it was made and how long ‘till it went bad. The last two minutes were spent actively stirring the mixture of sauce and vegetables such that the more delicate greens didn’t burn. Tasting it just as the timer went off, Beon made a mental note to add less wine and more of the blue peppers. He knew Fent wouldn’t care, as sometimes cooking is an imprecise science, but it made a difference to Beon. Quickly, he drained the noodles and added them into the pan along with some reserved water for another minute of cooking. Well incorporated and swimming in layers of complex, spicy flavors, the salt and pepper followed until it was all the way to his liking.   
Two bowls, two mugs, two forks, and a loaf of hardy bread were laid out on the table. Beon took the opportunity to go all out for this meal only because it was their first time in a while living in a permanent structure. Normally, he’d fry up over the fire whatever they could scavenge. There was plenty to hunt on Tatooine, and they’d already made three trips out into the desert, but today’s meal required specialty goods found only at trading posts or bazaars near the spaceports. A few days ago, he’d taken a trip into town and bought enough spices and other essentials to last them for at least two months. He wasn’t sure how long they’d be here, but whatever they didn’t use could be frozen or otherwise tossed with little to no environmental repercussions.   
Other than a bit of fancy chef work, Beon wasn’t one for plating. He unceremoniously pushed a pile of pasta onto each plate and poured caf into both mugs (he’d let Fent add what he wanted to his). Not waiting for his companion, Beon began to eat and sip his un-altered caf. He cut a chunk of the bread and hollowed it out like a bowl, pouring what was left of the veggies and sauce into it and eating the whole thing like a halved sandwich. The steam made his nose run and he hastily wiped it on the back of his hand, chewing with his mouth open for a moment till his sinuses cleared. Pushing his plate away, he drummed his fingers on the table and surveyed the pots, pans, utensils, and various dishes piled up in the sink. Tomorrow, they’d get delivery number six from the Wiltso’s. He thought the water would have lasted them longer, but he left last week’s water treatment up to Fent who promptly forgot it the moment the Huttball game came on. Needed to dump and refill both the main and reserve tank. He leaned to his left and peered down the hallway to the back room where the tank sat idling, the last bits of clean water being used up or set aside to make the day’s meals. The fresh set of jugs from that morning were still lined up against the wall, unfiltered and therefore unusable. Beon at least had more foresight that his companion. Dinner, a pair of steaks, mushrooms, and baked tubers, was already prepped and bagged in the cooler. A bucket of cleaning water, already a little stale from last night’s dishes was finally overpowered by the spices of today’s lunch (for which Beon was grateful). With a sigh, he got up and laid his plate down beside the others, fancying a walk around the dunes shielding the house from prying eyes.   
He tucked his helmet under his arm, slid a blaster into his hip-holster, then unlocked and pried open the door. It was boiling as usual but Beon never went outside without his armor on. Fent sometimes braved it without his breastplate. Beon, on the other hand, was in kit no matter the weather. On the whole, his armor was blood red with accents of grey and black. He wasn’t one for artistic creativity, so unless you recognized his lekku markings he barely stood out among other mando’ade. Beon like it that way, citing that his amor, being an extension of himself, wasn’t designed to be flashy or decorated. Beun had all sorts of eccentric patterns and snarling creatures on her breastplate and pauldrons. Fent and Lyse followed Beun’s example and decorated their left pauldrons with the snarling visage of some animal Beun saw on a hunt. Teika’s breastplate bore the markings of his brother who perished on Hutta, and No’gan’s wrist guards were decorated with a suspiciously familiar webbing of black and blue filigree. Beon saw no need for his own decoration, however. He’d often shrug and say that Beun was creative enough for the both of them, and he was grateful she never bothered him about it. With the suns bearing down on him, he wondered what it would be like to wear lighter-colored armor for a change. He made a mental note to look into it. He’d seen desert Clans who could blend in perfectly with the dunes, confirming that the technology to beat the heat must also exist in some form. For now, his thick kama would have to do, protecting at least his butt and upper thighs from the scalding sand he was now sitting on.   
Helmet in his lap, he pulled his lekku forward so they hung down across his chest. He looked them over, noting the dry patches that had kept him up most of the night. Inside he had some heavy duty lotion that sounded really good at the moment, but he was already outside and his legs were a touch numb from sitting. Walking off lunch sounded like a good idea until the suns hit him, but he knew sitting in one place was liable to get him sunburnt and a lekku burn might give him permanent insomnia. Wiggling each foot slowly to regain feeling, he put on his helmet to free up his hands. He was just getting to his feet when he saw a familiar, junky red landspeeder zooming up from the east. It bobbed across the dunes rather erratically, but Beon figured Hugh must be having a fit. He braced himself, remember he couldn’t lose his temper in front of the old man.   
“They’re early,” he heard Fent say over the com.   
Beon turned around. Fent was in the doorway, helmet held close to his face so he could talk and eat at the same time. Like Beon, he’d filled a bread bowl with the remainder of his pasta.   
“Guess he really wants our credits,” Beon shrugged.   
Fent shook his head, walking up the dune to stand beside his friend, “Doesn’t look too happy. See how he banked that…” he trailed off. The speeder was now thirty yards away and both hunters could make out the solitary figure in the front seat.   
Beon took off down the hill with Fent at his heels. Cara, nearly running them over, slammed on the breaks and reached out for Beon’s arm.   
“Help me hide this!” she said urgently.   
“The speeder or you?” he panted.  
“Both!”  
“Cara what’s-”  
“I’ll explain later, just help me okay?” she was flushed red yet frightfully pale, her eyes were wide, and her hand was shaking as she clutched the steering wheel.   
“We’ve got a tarp by the shed. That should work,” said Fent, “I’ll push, you steer. Cara get out of the speeder.”  
“But-”  
“You almost capsized twice,” he said, hoisting her out of the front seat and setting her on the ground. She staggered slightly but caught herself, “and I’m not keen on having a speeder in our living room.”   
She bit her lip, eyeing the horizon fearfully, but nodded her consent.   
Beon leaned in and took the wheel while Fent pushed the speeder forward from the back, careful not to bang his head on the crates stacked haphazardly in the bed where the water normally sat. Even the side netting had various boxes and rolled up fabrics crammed into every available space.   
“You’re not running away are you?” Beon asked as they came around to where their speeders were parked.   
Cara shook her head, “No...well yes, but no. I’ll…” she hesitated, glancing back towards the east, “Can I come inside?”  
Fent and Beon looked at each other.   
Tarp tied tightly over the majority of the speeder with the rest obscured by various crates lying around the house, the trio went inside and locked the door behind them. Cara, not waiting for them to say anything, ran from room to room and snapped the windows shut, covering those that had blinds or drapes. Beon and Fent stood in the living room, listening to her dash around, checking the doors and light fixtures as if afraid the place would be bugged.   
“Cara we’ve already checked the place,” Beon said, taking her by the shoulders before she could dash away again, “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”  
She shook her head and ducked under his arms, pulled out a small green device, and set it on the floor near the holotable. Immediately, the tech around the room went dark save for the lights. Their comms crackled loudly, both tearing off their helmets as Cara took a deep breath and blurted:   
“When the Black Sun wants a meeting with my Da he sends me away with all the family valuables in case the gangsters kill him and come for it but since I don’t have Dovin to protect me I got scared and came here ok?!”   
Beon’s hand twitched and he nearly dropped his helmet. Fent looked similarly stunned but quickly composed himself. The severity of the situation slowly settled into the room like a boulder falling from a mountain top. Fent was the first to speak:   
“Well...you’re definitely safe here,” he said trying to smile as comfortingly as possible.   
Beon nodded, hoping a reassuring look would put her at ease.  
Fent then clapped, making Cara jump. “You’re in luck because I brought my sabaac deck and Beon here,” he put his arm around the Twi’lek, “makes a mean hot tea. Sound good?”  
Cara, taking deep, steadying breaths, nodded and allowed Fent to take her by the hand into the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder at Beon in a “what the hell do we do?!” sort of way.   
“I’ll get right on the tea,” Beon said in his best, cheerful voice, pulling out one of the last jars of clean water and lighting the stove.   
“You have any more of those candies from that refueling station?” Fent asked hopefully, nodding to Cara whose back was turned to them while she took off her boots.   
Beon thought for a moment, turning away from the stove and opening up their crate of perishable foods.   
“Here,” he set a bag of colorful candies on the table, “Fent has a sweet tooth so we picked these up. Have a few if you’d like.”   
Cara eyed them longingly, but shook her head, “I haven’t had sweets in a while. Might give me a stomach ache.”   
“Nonsense,vod,” Fent opened the bag and handed her one, “You’re with us. Have a few. Beon makes a good cure for stomach aches too.”  
When Beon nodded, she grinned and took more than just one.


End file.
